


Ci Vediamo, Caro

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: (really bad melodrama), Dirty Jokes, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Melodrama, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 10:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16742167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Nurse's office melodrama.





	Ci Vediamo, Caro

**Author's Note:**

> My friend asked me to post this so she can access it for future blackmail. It includes my characters (???) so yep.

The nursing room lulls, with only a subdued surge of wind breaking what would could have been complete silence and utter tranquillity. Therefore, the nursing room has an obscure, odd sense of placidity. The window has hues of steam, smears and starches masking it, and it seemingly preserves every sign of the constantly changing seasons and weather. The window glass is eclipse in nature’s keepsakes, and the hickory brown window frames are tight and tense in venerability, inert to moving, and help show the only signs that there is an unmistakable, unambiguous world beyond the room. The window remains half-opened, half-closed and outside, there is only a glance of dingy, dull juniper green grass. In autumn, there are mushrooms and in spring there is flowers. The sunlight shudders after Summer, and in Winter, right now, the sunlight is faint and the wind is strong.

There is a balance of warmth and coldness in the room, as in the nursing room, the radiator is opaquely, ineptly painted in a salt white. It melds into the wallpaper, subtly but ineptly, and the wallpaper is furbished in modest moss green flowers on a languid linen white background. The carpet is made up of strips of cotton; dulled in a pale, pecan brown. On the right of the room, there is a cabinet, same colour as the window frames but the glass is clear and shows the lines of medicine bottles inside, with the labels worn out and wrinkled at their edges and their centres. The cabinet lies near the wall and the bed presses against it, but only slightly. The bed is as stiff as the window frames, with a creaking mattress and a tremoring canopy. The bed is primed in a primitive pillow and subtilty woven sheets, folded neatly at the corner of the bed.

On the left of the room, there is a desk, same colour as the window frames and the cabinet, but it seems more well-defined, keen-edged; contemporary and classy. On the desk, Kristopher’s homework is sprawled in front of him alongside his pocket-sized pencils, scrapped on the ends, and fractions of unanimated teal blue rubbers. His lunch is nearby but excluded into a corner of the desk, and the bin - that Kristopher is tilting with his foot nonchalantly - is filled with the burnt crusts of his sandwich and the wrapper of his freakishly flavoured crisps – cinnamon and sugar flavoured, limited edition for Christmas.

Kristopher caves in on the chair, lapsing lethargically into the moss green cushion. He hooks his foot onto the bin to balance him, as his eyes look at the ceiling, spiritless.  Out of all the health committee members of the school, he supposes that he is the most stabilized out of the two. The images of the two girls flicker into his head: with Natsumi sitting as straight as a ruler on the chair he leans back in now, hands seizing the bottom of her dress as her eyes jitter around the room; with Nyla emerging herself completely in the comfort of the pillow he leans back in now, veering the chair away from the desk with a jaunty kick from her fidgety foot, absently peering around the room, whistling carefreely, as she clings onto the edges of the desk to keep herself from falling off the chair.

Kristopher’s chair jolts forward. Near the desk is a door, and beyond that door is what sounds like seventh heaven (to extroverts, that is), with uproars exhilarating the vivid hallways. And from this door, the shouts are louder than usual, and seem to be approaching. Kristopher tips his head up and stares incredulously towards the door. His eyebrows furrow and lower as he becomes to make out voices.

“Shit! Goddamn it, you two, you’re making it worse,” A voice bellows; frivolous and fiery, “It stings SO bad.”

“Hey, shut it! You’re lucky that I’m even here. You know you can be really-!” A voice, equally as ill-tempered but with a sense of fretfulness, goes to rant to the other voice. But the other voice is angrier and instantaneously cuts them off:

“You know you were the one who stab – Vincent, fuck! You should really – no, just stop it!”

“A-Ah, sorry! I thought if I…well, we need to get there quickly,” The next voice opposes the last two, panicky and breathless – full of dread, “Or your injury-!”

“Yeah, I get it, but you shoving me along isn’t helping – ow!” The indignant voice raises over again, but now with more anguish.

“Hey, you! Show some gratitude, Vincent’s just worried!” Another voice returns a lecture.

“Okay, Noel, but how about you tell me why you are-!”

And then, the voices have faces. Vincent, Noel and Lucian barge in abruptly and just as sudden, their expressions race into Kristopher’s mind. Vincent’s spine slants down but his head darts up promptly – unable to conceal his worry. His eyes enlarge, his pupils dilating, and the gleam in those grey orbs only plead. His hand is bucked firmly on Lucian’s arm, and likewise, Noel grips onto Lucian’s elbow. Noel’s other arm is rigid by his side, his fists clenched. His eyebrows narrow when looking at Lucian, his expression pinched. Noel bites down on his frown – able to conceal his worry. Lucian’s lips curl upwards, annoyed, and there is a tightness in his expression, yet in his shoulders too. He silently squirms.

Kristopher jerks out of his chair, blinking at Lucian hastily as he grasps the edge of the desk. His lips part at Lucian’s bloodstained hands, fearful. Noel watches Kristopher before lunging towards him. He looks at Kristopher softly, his eyes glowing with indistinct gratitude.

“K-Kristopher, oh my god! Please, do us a favour!” Noel exasperates, hustling Lucian forward.

“What happen…” Kristopher’s voice shudders at first, looking at Lucian’s grisly hands. He drags his eyes away and lowers his chin on the three, coldly, “I mean, this is why I’m here. So, what is it…that you want?”

“You see, uh, Lucian and me got into a little bit of a fight – I mean misunderstanding.” Noel falters, skittishly. He rubs the back of his head, for Lucian’s head to yank upwards, enraged eyes. 

“That’s an understatement, Mr. ‘I actually broke your fingers’!” Lucian snarls, fuming. Kristopher’s lips pinch into a downturned scowl as he glances towards Lucian’s injury again. Kristopher flinches, freezing on the spot momentarily.

“Noel, you…no, you couldn’t have. That’s not possible.” Kristopher assures, driving his shoulders back to create a callous confidence. Vincent hesitantly shifts forward as he lifts his hand up languidly.

“Kristopher, I-I hate to but in, but the main thing is that Lucian really has hurt his fingers,” Vincent stresses. His eyes land on Lucian when Kristopher only looks at him for clarification, his sympathy secreted. Vincent leans close to Lucian, managing a smile through the wrinkles on his face, “Haven’t you, Lucian?”

Lucian looks incredulously at Vincent briefly but squeezes his eyes shut and swoops his head away from Vincent to hold his chin high. He crosses his arms, smug.

“It’s not that big a deal buuut,” Lucian opens one eye at Kristopher, as if to wink at him. He continues with a knowing grin, “If I can spend time with my darling, Kristopher, that’s a plus!”

“Lucian, I swear to god!” Noel crows, his muscles jerking to tighten. He hurriedly clenches his jaw shut to weaken the tension in his body and indignantly veers to the door, “That’s it, he’s your problem now!”

“Come on, Noel! You know you still like me!” Lucian vividly props himself forward, facing Noel with gleaming eyes, his grin widening at the sight of Noel storming out of the room, “It’s normal to get into arguments from time to – ow! What the HELL is wrong with my hand I can’t even – gak!”

Lucian draws himself back and his other hand glides to his injury. Lucian begins clenching and unclenching his injured hand, whining as doing so. Vincent watches this for a while before clearing his throat. He steps towards the door, shakily smiling.

“Er, I think this may be my cue,” Vincent’s eyes flit elsewhere before returning on Lucian. He gently bites his lip before smiling again, “Uh, Lucian, I hope you get better soon!”

“Aww, how sweet, Vincent.” Lucian teases with a purposeful corny voice, hands drifting behind his head to prove his indifference, “Don’t worry though, my hand will always be in action for you,” “No matter how many times Noel dis…breaks it!”

“L-Lucian, you really…you should not do…say…um, do that!” Vincent frets, his hands raising urgently before cringing back down to his sides, “Uh, yes. I’ll leave. Yes, leaving. Goodbye.”

Vincent darts out of the room, too embarrassed to keep talking to Lucian. Lucian slightly presses his lips together before turning to Kristopher, smirking. Kristopher takes a deep breath, as if to prepare himself.

“Well, now it’s just me and you, Kristopher,” Lucian sways his weight towards Kristopher, to make wilful eye contact, “I’m all yours to fix up, but looking at you, I already feel better.”

Kristopher’s head turns away from Lucian, his cheek slightly presses against his shoulder as his chin dips down.

“Lucian, you…n-no, just…give me your hand.” Kristopher mutters, his knees pulling together as he pulls his chair forward and sits down, abashed.

“Wow, Kristopher, you don’t seem like the type to jump into the romance first,” Lucian swings down onto the bed, legs spread wide. He narrows his eyes suggestively at Kristopher, “But it’s sort of cute, I mean, I’m not complaining,” Lucian tenses up immediately and he yelps theatrically, “OW! Why – What are doing?”

“I need you to stop acting like a kid, for once in your life.” Kristopher snaps sharply. Kristopher’s protruding eyes glare at Lucian, his eyebrows narrow close together. He sighs and drones on, “I need to see this.”

Kristopher’s fingers calmly move into Lucian’s fingers and smoothly splits them further apart. Kristopher closes in and examines the cuts and bruises on Lucian’s hand, gritting his teeth together as his toes curl up. He thinks of how meek but meticulous Natsumi’s touch would be; or how lively yet loving Nyla’s touch would be – and how his touch much be…too embarrassing to think about.

Lucian can only think of Kristopher’s touch. And how cold his hands are. And how sweaty his hands are. And how shaky his hands are.

It’s embarrassing to think about.

“Y-You’ve been holding onto my hands for a long time, y’know,” Lucian points out, his taunting sing-song voice wavering, “I mean, this is what couples do right, but maybe you could have had a date or something before…this.”

“Lucian, you’re only embarrassing yourself with comments like that,” Kristopher stops and lifts his head up at Lucian, who, as predicted, is embarrassed with a red face and a shy smirk. Kristopher’s chest tenses up before caving back into itself as he continues, “I – only want to examine your injuries.”

“Oh…” Lucian hunches down and his smile seems to fade, “Okay.”

Kristopher continues examining Lucian’s injuries. Subsequently, he stands up and makes his way to the cabinet. His fist thoughtfully lifts over his mouth and he pauses. Lucian’s gaze bounces to Kristopher and his smirk returns.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing!” Lucian moans, jolting himself forward into a strong posture, “Leaving your patient unattended! I’m dying here!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I’d rather be doing homework than this…” Kristopher discloses dismissively, returning to look for the bandages.

“Then, why are you doing it?” Lucian fixates his eyes on Kristopher, his eyebrows raising and his lips parting – but only slightly. Kristopher returns to his seat and fidgets with the roll of bandages he has found.

“What, helping you? Because it’s my job.” Kristopher states, in a low voice to hide that his previous contempt has left him. Now, he is left with downward, dancing glances that can’t seem to meet Lucian.

“No, why did you even volunteer for the nursing room?” Lucian provokes but only out of curiosity. Kristopher’s grip tightens as he whips the bandage around Lucian’s hand heatedly. His lips flatten fleetingly and he grinds his teeth together.

“Because – Because I didn’t think I’d had to deal with bastards like you!” Kristopher barks, his voice deep and irate.

Kristopher inhales and draws himself back, pinching his lips together. His posture stiffens as he returns to twisting the bandage wrap around Lucian, his grip loosening. Lucian only looks at Kristopher, bewildered. He bites down on his lip as Kristopher is static in his frustration: clenched jaw, tightened eyes, and narrowed eyebrows. Lucian quietly holds his breath before quickly hurling up his chin, before heaving his chest out. He grins as if he always has.

“My, my!” Lucian pipes, squinting his gleaming eyes with self-assurance, “Kristopher, isn’t it bad to get mad at patients like that?”

“You’re not my patient forever,” Kristopher affirms hardheartedly, “I’ll just go back to ignoring you after this. It’s for the best from most of the things you say.”

“But, that’s what you do,” Lucian cocks his head to the side, sneering, “You’re ‘hard-to-get’ Kristopher. You always seem to go away when we get somewhere with you.”

Lucian juts his chin up more, raising his eyebrows expectantly at Kristopher. Kristopher only seems to dissolve in his seat, deliberately arching down to avoid Lucian’s all-knowing eyes. Lucian apprehensively squares his shoulders upwards.

“Y’know, ignoring me isn’t going to help.” Lucian confines, now a shakiness in his voice, “I want to know – no, it just makes me more curious in you.”

“So, what am I supposed to do?” Kristopher raises his head, his eyes flicking upwards as, finally, his expression alleviates to heightened eyebrows and parted lips. Lucian purposefully moves towards Kristopher, his face beaming in impish.

“Admit that you smell like dog fur.” Lucian declares, his eyes strong but the rest of his face is soft. Kristopher squints his eyes at him, narrowing his eyes.

“I – What?”

“You. Smell. Of. Dog. Fur.” Lucian says, fastening his hands on Kristopher’s knees to edge towards him more. Kristopher blows back, his face reddening. Lucian jerks back too, as his shoulders drop and his breath hitches.

“You’re trying to get under my nerves, again!” Kristopher rockets out of his seat, flinging his hands up in the air, exasperated, “What the hell do you actually want from me? Do you want me to suck…ugh, no! No!”

Kristopher’s hand shoves against his temple and he shuts his eyes close, retiring back to his chair, back near Lucian. Lucian momentarily frowns, his head still lowered. He darts his gaze up, still smiling. Smiling bitterly.

“It’s not anything like that,” Lucian objects, trying to keep his shoulders back and still, “You grab my attention, that’s all.”

Kristopher’s hand shoots away from his face and smacks into his knee with a crisp, cross charge. His eyes spontaneously glare up towards Lucian, and he tightens his jaw.

“I bet you say that to anyone that is in a one-foot radius from you!” Kristopher counters, crumbling up his trousers. He squints his eyes down at his lap, his eyebrows drawing together, “I’m trying – I don’t want to help you anymore, actually. But…”

“This is what I mean,” Lucian interjects, his words too quick as he edges forward (also too quickly), “You keep on revealing small snippets of yourself but never expand on it.”

“What am I, a novel?” Kristopher sighs heavily, crossing his arms firmly.

“Maybe. I don’t know what you are,” Lucian’s voice vanishes, his eyes trailing off, sulking. He cannot let the moment last, so he shifts his hands behind his head and spreads his legs widely again. His eyes grin too, “That’s why I’m here.”

“Not because Noel broke your fingers,” Kristopher’s mouth and eyes frown, “You shouldn’t even be here, you won’t be able to write.”

Kristopher’s frustration stalls as he momentarily muses his attention towards the phone in the nurse’s office. He shuffles himself to face the phone, not Lucian. Lucian starts flexing and unflexing his fingers, like he has a new robotic hand. His lips are parted, thoughtfully, as he looks at his hands, his gaze weightless.

“My fingers are just injured, I thought you’d know that.” Lucian is now the one speaking with a snarling scorn; his words are sharp. He pauses before tilting his head towards Kristopher, with probing eye contact, with a strong sneer, “You were examining my hand so much that I thought you’d know that.”

“I – that’s it, I’m calling you -!”

Kristopher’s chair knocks backwards as he bolts out of his chair. His eyes are closed, his teeth are grinded together, his posture is focused on the phone.

The chair falters back down to the ground. Kristopher’s head jerks back, his breath rising in a vehement inhale. Kristopher’s fist clenches in Lucian’s hands, which grip him back down. Lucian fingers twitch against Kristopher’s knuckles.

His hands are still cold.

“Lucian, let go of me,” Kristopher pulls his eyes away from Lucian, his mouth pressing into a grimace, “You’re just going to hurt your hands more.”

“I know that much about you, Kristopher,” Lucian searches Kristopher’s face for a reaction, with over-feverish eyes. Kristopher’s eyebrows wrinkle as he looks at Lucian, not even knowing what to think anymore. Lucian leans forward, his spine bending down as his chin lifts upwards, “I bet you didn’t think I noticed your face when I came in. A-dor-a-ble”

“That’s…stop it.” Kristopher’s eyes narrow pensively towards the phone, but he struggles to leave Lucian’s grip. His nose screws up with his scowl.

“Kristopher, I pick up on these things” Lucian insinuates, his voice surging to become strident, strong. He has picked up on a lot of things, just from coming into this office. How his pencils are as tiny as his cryptic handwriting; how he actually eats and enjoys those weird limited-edition flavours that no one with functional taste buds would eat; how he thinks his splutters hold threat; how he manages to make his tired eyes flare up with vexation; how he forces a frown rather than a smile; how, under all that effort, he still…

“You smell of dog fur.” Lucian’s words seem more of an insult now, unbonded by his constant confidence. He makes himself clear, cutting. His muscles tighten, further fastening his grip on Kristopher’s hand, as his stare remains strong with Kristopher, hunting down any emotional slipup.

“Alright, get off that.” Kristopher bares his teeth and he exhorts with a flat, firm voice, “Now.”

“What do you think of me,” Lucian’s grip loosens, his hand fluttering away. His voice palely pleads; “Kristopher?”

Kristopher slowly turns to face Lucian, who gazes at him, his eyes pained. He closes into himself, his hands pressed against his knees, his neck stiffen as he is not used to drawing himself in. Not this much. Kristopher purses his lips together, his face tightening. He feels a heaviness weighing down in his stomach, and he tries to swallow it away.

Hastily, Kristopher sweeps his hand out of Lucian’s grip and spirals away from Lucian. He locks his hands into fist, and his arms tense by his sides.

“I think you’re annoying,” He lies, “And just trying to get under my nerves.”

Kristopher puts on a hard expression, for himself. He cannot afford another slip up. Yet, his stomach now quivers when he hears the sound of Lucian getting up, off his seat.

“I wish I could think something of you,” Lucian implores, and the sound of his hand hitting against his chest can be heard. Kristopher’s eyes grow wide so he keeps his eyes averted, “Why don’t you get? That I want to know you!”

“Am…I am supposed to be honoured by that?” Kristopher bellows back, crossing his arms in respond to the restlessness jittering in his body.

Lucian eyes glow as he watches Kristopher’s movement, expecting much more. His feet point towards Kristopher, putting all the spotlight on him. He gazes at Kristopher, unblinking. His stare blurs when Kristopher stays still. His hand limps back to his side, and his shoulders slump down. Kristopher bites his lip, unsmiling.

“Lucian, you – you’re right,” He sputters, sombrely, “Your injuries, that is. You can leave now.”

Footsteps cannot be heard.

“I won’t repeat myself, Lucian.” Kristopher bellows, “Leave.”

Lucian trudges over to the door, and it seems like there is glue on his shoes, weighing him down to the floor. He brushes his hand on the doorknob before his gaze flickers back at Kristopher. His smile holds weight now,

“I don’t get you, Kristopher.” Lucian explains, tilting his head away slightly as he continues bitterly, “Everyone wants to know me – but, hey, I want to know you.”

“Lucian, leave.”

“…Admit it,” Lucian furrows his brows and narrows his gaze at Kristopher. He raises his voice, “You – Tell me to my face. That you want to know me.”

“I – get out,” Kristopher grits his teeth down to detain his emotions, “I want you out.”

Lucian presses his lips together, his eyes attentively watching Kristopher. He caught on a while back, but there is still that shrinking feeling in his heart as his chest clenches and crinkles inwards.

“Alright,” Lucian opens the door and grins one last time at Kristopher, who is still not facing him, “Ci vediamo, caro.”


End file.
